Everything Is Ending
by altenprano
Summary: The night before her wedding to Richard Carlisle, Mary goes for a walk through Downton for the last time as Lady Mary Crawley, imagining the life she might've had if she was marrying Matthew instead of Richard.


**A/N: So this is a little piece I decided to do because MatthewXMary is one of _Downton's_ most interesting couples.**

**This specific piece was inspired a little by Chameleon Circuit's song "Everything Is Ending" **

**As mentioned in the summary, this is an AU where Mary does end up marrying Carlisle (unfortunately). Also, I might do more with this specific AU in the future. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey_ **

* * *

><p>"Will that be all m'lady?"<p>

"Yes Anna," Mary said. "Thank you."

Anna nodded and left the room, the rich blue gown that Mary'd worn at dinner folded neatly over her arms.

_Alone at last, _Mary thought, frozen in place at her vanity, staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror.

By this time tomorrow, she would no longer be Lady Mary Crawley, but Lady Mary Carlisle.

By this time tomorrow, she would be waiting to consummate her marriage in a bedroom at Hacksby Park.

By this time tomorrow, everything would be different.

What was she thinking? Had she expected her life to stay on the course she'd mapped out for herself when she was a little girl after Patrick'd gone down with the _Titanic_ six years ago? If there was any event that Mary could blame for her life's sudden deviation from its course, it was the tragedy that'd made the front page of every newspaper that April morning.

If the _Titanic _hadn't sunk, she would still have Patrick, Downton would have an heir who knew and loved her, and Mary would have a future. There wouldn't be any Kemal Pamuk to ruin her and leave her at the mercy of Richard Carlisle, there wouldn't be any Matthew Crawley to torment her with the fact she couldn't have him, and there wouldn't be any reason for her to dread her wedding day.

_This is my last night at Downton, _she realized, surveying her surroundings, taking in the familiar warmth and comforting scent of her room. _This is my last night in this room. _

Mary rose from her vanity, the sound of the chair sliding across the floor reminding her of the gentle grating of Isis's claws against the library floors. She'd miss Isis, and Papa and Mama, and Sybil and Anna, and even Edith; she'd miss the house too— the drawing room, the library, the front hall, the gallery, all of it. She didn't want to forget the castle that had been the home of her family for more than a century, and she knew if she did, she would never forgive herself.

She drew her dressing gown around her body, shielding herself from the chill that permeated the halls that'd been her world, both as a girl and as a grown woman. She knew the halls well enough that the dim light was sufficient for her to navigate by, but she trailed her fingers along the wood-paneled walls nonetheless, savoring the feeling of finished wood beneath her fingertips. She breathed in the still air, letting the taste of stone and wood and flowers fill her mouth, pooling in her lungs like cold silk before she was forced to exhale.

It was rare that Mary saw Downton in the half-shadows that clung to the stone crests of past Earls of Grantham and their wives, darkening chevrons and upturned crescents. There was always something happening in the entry hall; servants were always going back and forth about their tasks, Papa was always greeting Granny or some other visitor. The inactivity that came on with the stroke of midnight was completely foreign to Mary, at least as she saw it now. There was literally no one in sight, not even Mr. Carson, come to make sure all the fires were put out before locking up for the night.

Tonight, it was as if the house was showing itself to Mary as she'd seen it when she was younger, when she'd promised herself that she'd marry Patrick and live in Downton as the Countess of Grantham, just like her Granny had. Mary'd grown up with the understanding that it was her duty as her father's eldest daughter to preserve Downton in the years to come, to maintain the traditions that had been passed down from the first Earl of Grantham to his successors. It was Mary's job to make sure that, rain or shine, war or peace, Downton would still be standing, and that the Crawleys would still be in it, as her Aunt Rosamund often put it.

She could never feel the same love for Hacksby and Richard that she felt for Downton and Matthew, and in the solitude she found herself in, Mary was willing to admit that she loved Matthew. She couldn't say when her feelings for him had gone from disdain to the desire she felt stirring in her breast, warming her despite the chill in the air, but she knew, without question, that she loved him. She didn't want to part with him almost as much as she didn't want to part with Downton, and she loved him enough to spare him the shame of being her husband after Richard released the story of her and Pamuk into the world. She wouldn't do that to him, not in all the world, nor for all the riches in it.

_Even if you didn't have Richard breathing down your neck, you missed your chance with Matthew, _she reminded herself. _There's no going back now. _

Mary wondered if things would've been different if she'd accepted Matthew's first proposal, instead of second-guessing herself and assuming that he wouldn't be the heir, at least not as certainly as he was before Mama's unexpected pregnancy. For starters, she wouldn't be standing in the gallery in her nightclothes, wishing she didn't have to leave in the morning to marry a man who was more serpent than human. She wouldn't be troubled by the Greek myth that seemed to be playing out beyond the pages of the book she'd found it in, which was where it belonged. There wouldn't be any need for her to bid farewell to the house that had seen the endless procession of Crawley women born and raised and married within its walls, a house that was supposed to be hers. Her children were supposed to be born in one of the bedrooms, they were supposed to grow up in the same nursery she had (it had been converted into a drawing room as soon as Sybil left, but that was easily fixed), and they were supposed to spend their childhoods here, as she had.

Of course, none of that would happen now. Now she was condemned to a new life in a strange house with a man she loathed but had no choice but to marry, unless she wanted her family stained with what she'd done. She could be free of Richard, she was sure of it, but it was the fear of turning her private shame into her family's that kept her rooted firmly in place, and it would be what led her to the altar tomorrow, though her family and the gathered well-wishers would see her Papa instead.

As the grandfather clock in the front hall struck half-past midnight, Mary found herself staring out across the gallery, trying to think about something- anything- that hadn't changed with the sinking of the _Titanic. _ Her eyes stung with fatigue, and she knew she ought to head to her room and go to sleep, before the hours wore on and she began to fall asleep on her feet.

_Can't be falling asleep during my own wedding, regardless of how much I detest Richard, _she thought as she tore herself away from the halls of her childhood and returned to her room for the last time. Tomorrow she would be getting married, and tomorrow, the life she'd planned for herself would end and her world would change completely.

As she turned to go, she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure watching her from across the gallery, and her swore her heart stopped for a moment when he fixed his gaze on her, blue eyes meeting her dark ones.

_You're imagining things, _she told herself, wrapping her arms around her torso to keep her chest from bursting with false hope. _Matthew's asleep, just like everyone else is, just like you should be. _

Mary tore herself away from the balcony and set off down the hall, glancing over her shoulder once or twice before she closed her door and settled under the soft duvet of her bed for the last time. She couldn't shake the thought that Matthew had been there in the gallery, perhaps waiting for her to come talk to him, and oh, how she longed to, but she couldn't, could she? She couldn't tell him that she loved him, not even in silent exchanges across the dinner table, because her love would be pledged to another by this time tomorrow.

As she drifted off to sleep, the last thought in her mind was of the figure in the shadowy gallery, and how she longed to be with him one more time as Lady Mary Crawley. It was something that could only be in dreams, and that desire was what carried her off to sleep every night, as it would tonight, and every night until she breathed her last breath on this earth.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! I've never written as Mary before, so I'd appreciate your feedback. **

**Thank you~**


End file.
